


Leader Zero

by WindwiseWords



Series: Xenogen City [31]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Anger, Angst, Beginning of a Beautiful Friendship, Depression, Despair, Developing Friendships, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Loss, Mention of major character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-11-06
Packaged: 2018-08-29 12:10:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8489113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WindwiseWords/pseuds/WindwiseWords
Summary: After the War, most forgot about the brave Minicons that did their best despite their size. But everyone forgot that even the most powerful mech in the universe had his pet as well. A Minicon without a master, without function does not survive well. Sparkplug decides to take the matter into his own hands, with a very Minicon-esque idea.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Stockholm syndrome, probably, but I mean nobody served Megatron because they wanted to. They did it out of fear, and sometimes fear warps ideals. Leader-One got caught up in it all.
> 
> Minicons do not require a master, but prefer to have a larger bot on their side. It just makes life easier for some things, especially in a city like Xenogen. They're childish, playful, and prefer to play than work but Sparkplug keeps them in check. Even if he sneaks off to mess around on a playground once in a while.

Sparkplug held a cube of energon and knocked again on the door, hoping for a response of any kind so the master key wouldn’t be needed. Of course, like all the days before, no words, beeps, or even shuffling. With a sigh the Minicon knocked the third and last time. “Leader-One, I will get in. Can’t you just open the door? I have a cube for you.”

Sparkplug led the Minicons, who settled in their own village on the island Xenogen built off. It mimicked many building styles and much to the constructicons’ dismay they refused to follow any sort of pattern at all. Everyone painted, designed, and etched whatever their spark wanted into their personal domicile. Addresses and room numbers were obsolete when every single trine of Minicons, group, or singular bots personalized their structures. All but Leader-One.

With a sigh, Sparkplug keyed in his master code, glancing around to see if anyone dare try to take it. Not that anything would come of it, other than perhaps some pranks and drawing on faces in the night. The main threat: this code was also Optimus’ code. The door grated to the side and Sparkplug stepped into the dark, unpainted space.

The outside Sparkplug himself painted Leader-One’s colors, more so he could identify the address, but also to try to form some kind of bond with the distraught bot. Optimus asked him to try, and Sparkplug tried his hardest. But unlike other Minicons that were won over by trust, or candy, or just simple companionship, Leader-One dug in and held on to a shred of what he considered normal: Megatron’s brutal leadership.

“Leader-One, it’s time to refuel. I put supplements in it. You need to come out sometime and see the store I got them at, they have a whole section on the bottom shelves for us little guys.” Sparkplug beeped cheerily at the mass swathed in a purple, beat-up cloth. Megatron’s old polishing cloth. It stunk like him too, Sparkplug thought, but figured if it kept Leader-One from panicking so be it.

The swaddled lump on the bed didn’t move away from Sparkplug, not until he stood over him. “I’m not low on fuel. I refueled yesterday.” A problem with many Decepticons, actually, the idea that there was not going to be fuel for large stretches of time and therefore they filled their tanks to complete maximum before refusing any more for days on end. Even if their bodies cried out for it.

Sparkplug gently leaned over to set the glass on a nightstand, covered with some empty and some full glasses of energon. Taking note of the different full ones, Sparkplug found he refused energon of a dark blue shade. Something to ask a medic about later. “It’s okay to refuel every day, as long as you don’t stuff yourself full.” Sparkplug sat on the side of the berth. Leader-One whined nervously and shifted into a corner, but there was no escaping the gentle grey-yellow hand that rested on his ankle.

“Please go away.” Leader-One tried to sound stubborn, like he was fine and the touch didn’t bother him at all. All he could see were flashes of Megatron’s violent fits of rage, and his body tensed in preparation for Sparkplug to fling him across the room. It never came, and slowly his tense body relaxed. “I don’t like being touched.” He finally said, and to his surprise Sparkplug let go this time.

A show of good faith, Rung called it. Just do as he asked, except leave. Sparkplug thought it simple enough and started today. It was a human’s Friday after all, which they claimed was the best day of the week and a happier day. Sparkplug decided to try human methods too, and saw the Internet recommended telling friends sad things on Friday. Mostly so they could drink it off.

“Okay, Leader-One. I won’t touch you anymore then.” As hard as not touching could be for Sparkplug, a huggy and tactile bot. Optimus Prime’s cuddle-bug nature rubbed off on him over the years, almost switched between them. “Will you refuel at least one sip? I put a straw in it. Some Minicons like straws.” A secret question to see if Leader-One indeed liked straws too. Sparkplug smiled and offered him the glass quickly as he sat up, though he didn’t take the glass directly.

Leader-One tested Sparkplug often, and this time it was by sipping on the straw right out of the glass in his hand. Not a test of trust for Sparkplug, but a test to see if he would be hit or if fuel taken away, or even laughed at. Anything to give him an excuse to hate this Autobot’s pet.

Sparkplug just grinned and nodded as he drank. “I’ll bring you straws from now on then.” Sparkplug gave him no reason to hate, or fear. When the glass emptied Sparkplug put it to the side of the nightstand and stood up slowly, going to wipe dust down off the counters and walls and just keep the dark, dreary place clean at the very least. Rung said a paint job would do wonders, something bright, but Sparkplug shook his head. Minicons had to have space customized to their own preference, or they began to feel inferior and unwanted compared to the other bots. Functionalist mindsets coursed in them all.

“Can you please go?” Leader-One mumbled, staying upright for now but his posture threatening to slip to the side. He wanted to be alone to grieve his dead master, dead partner, the only one he served for so long that his ideals became Leader-One’s ideals. “I want to be alone.”

Sparkplug frowned and shook his head. “You’re always alone in here. Don’t you…” He trailed off. Of course he missed interacting with bots, other Minicons and bigger mechs. But his idea of interaction was more like Knock Out’s idea of ‘proper’ treatment of a dead grounder. “I’m not going to just let you rot away in here. You’re a Minicon, Leader-One. I know you need interaction and fun and…” Sparkplug froze, and looked back at weary optics.

“And a master. My master is _dead_ , or hadn’t you realized?” Bitter words, spat with venom, but more than the usual words. Progress, Sparkplug decided. It was progress. Leader-One glared angrily. “Your master killed mine. He told me he would be back, and he never came back because he was _murdered_ by _your master._ I don’t want companionship, I don’t want fuel, I want my master _back_. But you can’t do that.” Leader-One’s rage subsided quickly, a tactic to avoid absolutely horrid beatings at the hands of Megatron. Hands that on very rare occasion helped the Minicon polish, or brought him some gruesome trinket in battle. That crushed his plating as often as threw him onto a medical berth to be fixed. Hands that despite all the atrocities he and others endured, he wanted back.

Sparkplug went through the same list and watched Leader-One slump back over. He decided to call it done for today. “Okay. You’re right. I’ll go. But I will be back.” Sparkplug picked up as many empty glasses as he could and turned to leave and puzzle out a way to win over this Minicon from Megatron’s dead grasp.

 

Making his way to the Mess Hall, Sparkplug settled in to wash the dishes stacked in the sink. There was no designated bot for this, just whoever felt like it at the time. It all got done so he never bothered appointing anyone. Lost in his thoughts he began to run through what little he knew about Leader-One.

Leader-One was once a peaceful bot, and was corrupted by Megatron’s ideology. A good start, but that didn’t explain the loyalty. Sparkplug tried again. “Leader-One likes his cruel, horrible master.” Sparkplug said aloud, and shook his head. No more progress. “Leader-One… Respects? His cruel, horrible, _dangerous_ master.” Better; Optimus was not cruel but he was dangerous and Sparkplug respected that danger. So Leader-One must respect Optimus in some corner of his thoughts, and that must be horrible to think about. That would be betraying his master.

“Leader-One respects his cruel, horrible, dangerous master. Leader-One likes straws, being in the dark, and that cloth.” Sparkplug announced to the dishes, laughing a bit as a bubble popped and sprayed soap at him. “That old cloth probably needs a wash too.” Not that he could take the one link to his master he had left. Sparkplug sighed and set his hands on the edge of the sink. He had a picture of Optimus on his desk, in his quarters, and even in the space in Optimus’ office. Sparkplug kept his master everywhere and Optimus did the same with his Minicon. The idea of not seeing those warm-hearted photos every day in every space he owned made him shiver.

Leader-One couldn’t drag that big old smelly cloth around. From what Sparkplug could tell he stitched it more than he could count on his hands; there was no replacing it. So what could Sparkplug do to get the distraught little Minicon out with at least him? At least eating late at night in the Mess Hall, or taking a walk in the moonlight? Sparkplug sighed and dried off his hands before putting the earlier-washed dishes away. Opening a cabinet, a prank was activated and Sparkplug beeped in fear as something squishy and soft battered his frame softly, falling out of the plates’ cabinet. He slipped and fell into some of them, sighing as he regained his wits and picked up a stuffed koala bear off the ground.

A smile broke over his face. The almost-exact copy of the animal gave him an idea, and he quickly gathered them up and set them out of danger of water before racing off to a little fabric shop he knew of in downtown, alerting Optimus that he needed to borrow some pictures.

 

“You…Want pictures of Megatron?” Optimus queried confusedly. Sparkplug hated Megatron more than he did, so the request was very out there. “Alright, Sparkplug, but what do you need them for?” Optimus quickly gathered up any he had taken among the war for recon or to study his long-time enemy and former-friend.

The Minicon beeped excitedly, which really threw Optimus off. “A stuffed Megatron toy?” More beeping and finally the reason became clear. Optimus lifted his Minicon into his hands and smiled proudly. “I think it’s a great idea. You’re really taking this one seriously.” Sparkplug warbled and shook a finger at him, eliciting a laugh from his master. “Alright, alright. You take most of your projects seriously, I know. Let me know if I can help, but I think my fingers are too large.” A loving trill and Sparkplug hugged one of those big fingers, nuzzling it to share his affection which was returned with a gentle stroke down his back. Then he jumped down carefully, and set to work measuring and trimming pre-purchased cloth.

 

Leader-One had been left alone for two days. He had energon on his nightstand, and went through even the flavors he disliked. It felt strange to not be pestered by the overly-bright Sparkplug but as long as he was fueled and alone this was better. Right?

He groaned and covered his face with Megatron’s polishing cloth. Leader-One felt lonely, and the familiar scent imbued in the fabric made him feel a little less abandoned. Maybe Sparkplug gave up. The usual time he came in ticked by for the third time and Leader-One almost got up to peak out the door, but a knocking came. He stayed silent through the three ritualistic knocks, but sat up.

Sparkplug came in with a bright grin, the usual glass of energon (plus a straw, dark purple for Decepticon), and a box wrapped in purple-and-black paper with a silvery ribbon. That caught Leader-One’s attention. “Sorry I couldn’t come. I got you something special and it took a little bit to assemble.” Sparkplug offered him the energon, which was turned down in favor of the box.

Leader-One looked at it skeptically and carefully pealed the ribbon away, took the lid off and swallowed hard. Two, much smaller, red optics looked back at his. Bright silver cloth, as if polished just an hour ago. It was suspiciously accurate, and Leader-One hesitated to grab it as if the plush of his master would bark at him for touching without permission. He lifted it out with the greatest care and looked at Sparkplug with overly-bright, emotional and confused optics.

“I’m not going to try to tell you to move on from your master. If it was Optimus I’d probably react the same way.” Though Leader-One would’ve never done this for him. Such were the pains of a leader, doing things without thanks. But Sparkplug found gratification in the way Leader-One _cradled_ the plush close. “Do you like it? I tried to make it as accurate as possible.”

Touching a shoulder’s spine, Leader-One nodded absentmindedly. “He had a scar here. Optimus Prime sliced it and he kept the mark.” But a smile was working its way over Leader-One’s stoic face. “And right here.” He tapped the fusion cannon. “It had a Decepticon logo. He kept it really shiny, and never painted it. It was hard to see.” Leader-One explained and Sparkplug just listened, smiling more at the happiness flowing into his charge.

“I remember that slash. He got Optimus too. On the back, left shoulder, but I insisted I patch it up.” Sparkplug related to Leader-One in ways nobody could understand. The enemy leader’s pet, while he was Optimus’. They were two sides to the same coin. Looking up, Leader-One had a spark of recognition in his eyes.

Nobody did anything like this before for him. Not even Megatron on the rare occasion he got the Minicon anything. “You did this for me. To make me happier.” Sparkplug nodded and the familiar gentle hand touched his shoulder with hesitation. Leader-One allowed it. “Even though this was the mech you hated most.”

“I will never stop hating him for what he did to me, to my friends, my master. To you.” Sparkplug admitted, quickly going on before Leader-One could jump to the defense of his master. “But I never hated you for any of that, and I can’t start imagining what my life would be like without Optimus. You deserve to be _happy_ , Leader-One. And if making you a replica of your master helps you sleep better at night, to be happier, I’ll make you a hundred.” He stretched his arm out to make a point.

Leader-One stared between him and the plush, and hugged it tightly. There were no words to express what he felt, a small prick of trust in this enemy Minicon that hated his master yet loved him so completely. A friend that he could never forget and yet never forget what he had done for him out of pure-sparked _kindness_ and _compassion_. So he summed it up. “You really are the pet of Optimus Prime, Autobot.” And Leader-One laughed, a rough and unused sound but it sent Sparkplug off too.

“And you’re really Megatron’s lacky, Decepticon scum.” They paused, evaluating if the comment made the other upset before laughing again until Leader-One began to tear up, face twisting into pain.

Grief he held in racked his body and he clung to the plush and a corner of the blanket for dear life. Strong arms came to hold him as well, a rock in the storm of losing his million-year master, someone he could never just replace. Sparkplug didn’t let go, even as his digits knotted into softer plating and crumpled it, even as he screamed his anger and hate of Optimus. Despite their differences, Sparkplug held on until Leader-One began to sniffle out the last of this wave of hate and despair.

Sparkplug felt Leader-One go limp, and waited until gentle venting indicated he fell to recharge. He lay down the tear-stained head on a pillow, tucked him in and pushed the plush against his chest before sneaking out quietly. Sparkplug caught a few stares, a few tears of his own slipping free now that he didn’t have to be the rock. He picked up the pace before breaking into a full on sprint toward Optimus’ quarters, desperate to make sure he knew how much he meant to Sparkplug. Before it would be too late, before he was in the same position as Leader-One.


End file.
